Between the Lines

Eight - Oliver

Tuesday comes and goes, and for the next two weeks, I spend almost every afternoon in the library with Calvin. We spent our afternoons tucked away in our little corner of the world, bathed in the golden light that pours through the windows, ignoring personal space and forgetting everything that bothered us. We spent hours together, doing anything we could think of. Sometimes we would adventure beyond the library and most of the time we would stay out too late. But it's so hard to leave and time just seems to stop when I'm with him.

Calvin is almost like a painkiller at this point, and I would say I'm addicted. I like living without the pain that he helps me forget. I know there is still our impending doom somewhere out there, in here with him all the hatred and hurt of the world goes away, even if it's just for a quiet moment.

I look at Calvin who is slumped over a book across from me and admire his figure. Strands of his dark brown hair disobey the product that sweeps his fringe to the side and hangs in his face. His soft eyes follow the page in a slow sweeping motion. It would be obvious to say that we easily get distracted by each other, if you can't find me staring at him, he's usually the one staring at me. Neither of us mind, it's just nice to know someone is there most of the time.

Calvin looks up and sends me a look, questioning me.

"You're so far away," I complain.

"You're the one who sat there," he says, and I pout at him. He rolls his eyes and moves his arm so it's resting along the top of his beanbag, gesturing for me to come over and sit with him.

"But I'm comfy here," I say teasingly, rejecting his offer.

"Comfy, huh?" Calvin raises his eyebrow at me, "Well I'm not moving," he says as he turns his attention back to his book, smiling.

The worst and best thing about this relationship is that we are both stubborn. Horribly stubborn.

I decide if pouting is getting me nowhere, I'll sulk instead. I dramatically slump back into my beanbag, kicking my feet into the space between us. Calvin simply watches my desperate theatrics with a smile.

"Alright," he says as he puts his book down. He leans forward and grabs my legs, pulling me completely off my beanbag, "Comfy now?"

"Not anymore," I glared at him.

"Good, now you can come over here," he says, practically radiating smart-ass vibes.

I get up and move over to Calvin's beanbag and sit down with enough force to disturb his position, but he just laughs, still very proud of the trick he pulled. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and I nestle into his side.

Calvin has been busy reading this book since the last time we met up. It's by the same author that wrote that gay romance novel. He's invested in almost any book that I suggest. Some he's looked over and not bothered to open, but others he would read five times in one night if he wanted to. And he's not just being polite about it, we actually have very similar interests.

He rubs a hand along my arm, feeling the soft fabric of my Calvin Klein sweater, "You really like this sweater, don't you?"

"Mhmm," I mumble into his shirt. I roll onto my back to stare at the roof. Calvin pulls his hand away from my arm to turn the page, then he goes back running his hand along the fabric. It's no surprise that the only expensive thing I own came from Calvin.

"You know, I really wish I had enough money to get you something." I mention.

"I don't need anything," Calvin says.

"Well, I didn't need anything, but you still proceeded to give me things. You even insist on buying our drinks."

He looks up from his book and seems to mull the idea over. I lay there, watching his gaze flick around the room as he thinks, then his eyes suddenly light up and he turns to me, "What's the time?"